


The Bluebell Wood

by RogueTranslator



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Era, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Season/Series 04, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: It's the annual celebration of spring in Camelot, and Lancelot and Merlin spend the day together outdoors.After the spilling of some wine and feelings, they spend the night together indoors.(A poem from Lancelot's point of view.)Written for the /r/Fanfiction Prompt Challenge #18 / May 2020, filling the prompts "Poems," "Mayday, May Day!" and "Outside."
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot/Merlin (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 31
Collections: /r/FanFiction Prompt Challenge #18 / May 2020





	The Bluebell Wood

The first of May  
Anemone garlands, strips of colourful paper festoon the ancient stones.  
We walk from the citadel, through the lower town,  
Leaving the festival's shouts, its churned and mead-soggy earth.

The forest swallows us, and between two trees with tangled roots  
You grin from higher on the hill, calling out  
The sweet smells on the breeze: starflower, pennyroyal, borage, chamomile;  
You know every spear of grass.  
The sweat beneath my neck is not exertion.

Perched below an ash  
The wine sloshes our goblets, the soft sides of our wrists kiss on the toast.  
Your eyes blaze, ripping up a score of bluebells, weaving them into a wreath,  
Settling it over my ears crooked, comparing me to the girls  
At the festival, its churned and mead-soggy earth,  
Where he sits, waiting to bestow the wicker and woundwort crown  
On the May Queen.

You do it in jest.  
Together, here, among the bluebells, something blood-deep demands:  
Do you mean it in jest?

I speak.

Have you ever thought about us? I say,  
After so long that it seems the only thing  
One man could say to another.

You rest against my shoulder, moss scraping from the ash-trunk,  
The wine staining your teeth.  
You say only her name, and I say his.  
Here, in the bluebells, as they crown the May Queen  
Their names bring us freedom,  
Your lips, your fingertips  
Soft on the flowers in my hair.

It is the second of May.  
Rising from the pillow, jesting,  
I lay the bluebells on you in the heat, the darkness.  
We spent the hours until now with the ways we can have each other  
We will pass the hours until dawn not speaking of the ways we can't.


End file.
